


puppets and plants

by slugboy



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Artist Eddie Kaspbrak, First Kiss, Fluff, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Character, Trans Eddie Kaspbrak, Trans Male Character, very little angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:14:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24999655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slugboy/pseuds/slugboy
Summary: “Besides,” Bill says, smiling, “if Trashmouth over there can get customers, anyone can.”Bill nods to a stand directly across from Eddie, and Eddie looks over, only to startle when his eyes catch on the strangest booth he’s seen so far.How the fuck did I miss that, Eddie thinks incredulously.OR: Eddie decides to sell produce at his local farmers market, and Richie sells puppets in the booth across from him.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 20
Kudos: 263





	puppets and plants

**Author's Note:**

> TW: food (a lot of food, since that's what eddie sells at the farmers market), generalized anxiety, internalized transphobia, brief mention of internalized misogyny.
> 
> explanation: it's not the main plot of the story, but eddie is trans and deals with some internalized transphobia, so if that's going to be triggering for you please be careful reading this! i mostly used my own experience as a trans man to describe eddie's feelings, so this is by no means a catch-all for the trans experience! 
> 
> okay i think that's all, enjoy!!!

Eddie had been growing his own food for a year when Mike finally suggested the idea.

After twenty-five-some odd years of obsessing over where his food has been, dissecting every meal with a calculating eye as if he could see for himself the germs and e. coli on the surface, Eddie decided that the safest way to know what went into his body was if he grew his food himself. 

I couldn’t do everything, of course—he definitely didn’t want an entire farm, although Mike could supply him with meat and eggs if he really needed—but he decided to grow his own fruits, vegetables, and herbs. 

He honestly didn’t think he would be any good at taking care of plants. He was never allowed out in the grass and the dirt when he was younger. When Eddie tried it out, however, with the support and encouragement of his best friend, he was surprised to discover he had quite the green thumb.

So, whenever Eddie wasn’t drawing or painting in his home, he was in the garden. That’s where he was when Mike called him.

“ _Eddie, I’m a genius_ ,” Mike had started.

“Okay,” Eddie said, grunting as he pulled a stubborn carrot out of the ground. “I’ll bite. Why are you a genius, Michael?”

“ _You know how you said you wished you could help other people with health anxiety like yours?_ ”

Eddie made a humming sound into the receiver. 

“ _I think I know how you can do that_.”

That’s how Mike suggests that Eddie sell his food at the local farmers market. Eddie knew Mike and his boyfriend, Bill, went there every Sunday from 10am to 2pm to sell homemade bread (Eddie could die for Mike’s zucchini bread, so he doesn’t doubt their popularity), but Eddie had never gone himself.

When Eddie arrives downtown where the farmers market is meant to be set up, he’s expecting only what he knows from movies and television. Farmers markets sell food, right? Like a grocery store, except it’s outside. 

Apparently there’s more to it than that.

Eddie surveys the area as he sets up shop. He sees one booth selling soaps and candles. Another booth is selling hand-knit scarves and sweaters. Another is completely bird-themed, but from what Eddie could see, nothing bird-related was being sold—just rows and rows of teas and honey in cute little jars. Eddie glances over his lackluster booth and feels himself deflate a little.

“Hey,” Bill calls from his and Mike’s booth as Mike puts the bread loaves on display. They were kind enough to make sure Eddie got a spot right next to them so he wouldn’t be alone. “You’re gonna be fine, okay? Doesn’t matter what your booth looks like, everyone needs fruits and veggies. I’m sure people will come by today.”

Eddie nods his head, more to convince himself than Bill. 

“Besides,” Bill says, smiling, “if Trashmouth over there can get customers, anyone can.”

Bill nods to a stand directly across from Eddie, and Eddie looks over, only to startle when his eyes catch on the strangest booth he’s seen so far. 

_How the fuck did I miss that_ , Eddie thinks incredulously.

The man in the booth is facing away from Eddie, so Eddie lets himself look at all of the dolls and puppets and wooden figurines that he seems to be selling. It’s creepy when Eddie focuses a little too hard on one of the dolls’ beady eyes, but he can’t say he’s not impressed with the man’s work if these were all handmade like the sign at the front of the booth suggests.

The man in the booth turns around, and before Eddie can stop himself, he makes eye contact. The man stops and stares, his eyebrows jumping up on his forehead. His thick glasses slide down his nose, and he raises a single finger to push them back up by the bridge. Eddie blinks and then turns his head, ignoring the twisting feeling in his stomach.

The booth to the left of the doll stand is the soaps and candles booth. In it are two people, a man with frankly ridiculous muscles, and a woman with fiery red hair. There are no customers yet this early, so the two are just talking and laughing together. Eddie feels a twinge of longing in his chest at the sight. 

Something flashes on the man’s chest, and Eddie squints to see it’s a pin. He looks at the woman to find a similar pin on her own chest, although it’s a light purple color instead of mint green like the man’s. 

Eddie looks up to see that the man has taken notice of him, and Eddie averts his eyes, but it’s too late. He’s already gotten out of his seat and is starting to make his way towards Eddie.

“Hi there,” he says, his smile so bright and friendly that Eddie feels all his trepidation fade away in an instant. “I’m Ben.”

“Eddie,” he says, shaking Ben’s hand.

“I noticed you looking at my pin,” Ben says.

Eddie glances down at the pin again on instinct and sees that it says ‘he/him’ on it. Eddie feels his chest tighten again.

“You’re new, aren’t you? Would you like a pronoun pin? I always have extra,” Ben says, already pulling one out of his pocket. Eddie hesitates just long enough for Ben to rush in and add, “You don’t have to be trans to wear one. My girlfriend, Bev, is cis but she wears one just to normalize asking before assuming.” Ben pauses and makes a face, “Wait—ah, sorry, I tend to assume people always know what I’m talking about—do you know what cis means?”

Eddie swallows a laugh and nods his head in affirmation. “I think a pronoun pin would be great,” Eddie says. “Thank you, Ben.”

“Sure thing, buddy! Which would you like? If I don’t have any for your pronouns, I can always make some,” Ben says.

“Oh, um,” Eddie says. “Can you not tell?”

Ben gives him another easy smile, “Like I said, I try not to assume.”

“Right,” Eddie says, feeling his cheeks heat in embarrassment. “No, right, of course. Sorry, that was dumb. He/him pronouns, please.”

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Ben says, handing him the mint green pin. “I’ll see you around.”

Ben gives Eddie a hearty slap on the shoulder, causing Eddie to stumble a bit before righting himself. Ben walks off, and Eddie is about to turn away when he notices that Ben is heading towards the doll stand. 

The man at the doll stand is also wearing one of Ben’s pronoun pins, now that Eddie knows what it looks like—he/him, going by the color. Ben leans in and says something to the man, and he gapes at Ben, scandalized, before shoving at Ben’s arm. Ben walks away, shoulders bouncing as he cackles loud enough for Eddie to hear. 

Eddie looks back at the doll booth man to see that he’s already staring at Eddie. He offers him a wave hello, and Eddie gives him a shy wave back, two awkward fingers in the air that barely count as a greeting. The man laughs, just a huff of air strong enough for his chest to move with it, and then turns around to continue setting up his booth. 

_Stop looking at him_ , Eddie thinks, and he turns away. After a few seconds, he already feels the urge to steal another glance. _Don’t do it. Do not._

Eddie looks anyway.

It’s nearly afternoon, and not a single person has come up to Eddie’s stand. Honestly, he can’t blame them. He didn’t think to put any special spin on his booth. There are no cool decorations. He doesn’t even have a tent cover. Tons of people sell produce exactly like his, so why would anyone even take a second look at what he has? It doesn’t matter how hard he worked to grow everything himself. 

Needless to say, Eddie starts to feel a little discouraged. He sighs, feeling his shoulders droop. He peers around at the surrounding booths, where customers are at least glancing at what they have. Eddie looks over at the doll booth and sees the man observing him with a curious expression, and Eddie quickly looks away, face burning. The last thing Eddie wants is for him to see how he was pouting. 

But Eddie can’t help but look back. When he does, he sees the man talking with a customer and their young daughter. He pulls out a doll and the kid’s eyes light up when he hands it to her. Then, curiously enough, the man says something to the adult that Eddie can’t make out, and then _points_ to Eddie’s booth.

Eddie locks eyes with him just as he’s lowering his hand, and the man blushes. He gives Eddie a crooked smile just as the customer turns away from the doll booth—saying a quick word to the child to stay put where they are—and makes their way to Eddie’s stand instead.

Eddie quickly wipes the baffled expression from his face just as the older woman comes up asking about the cucumbers. He puts on a friendly smile and answers all her questions, all the while his brain screams _what the fuck was that?_

The woman eventually leaves, grabbing her kid from the doll booth on the way. In the doll booth, Eddie sees that there are two new kids standing around the man, screeching with joy as he makes a ventriloquist doll talk to them. He’s very obviously bad at ventriloquism; his mouth moves when it shouldn’t, his face contorting into exaggerated expressions that make Eddie huff a quiet laugh along with the children. 

It continues like that. The man seems to suggest parents let their kids play with the dolls, and then he points to Eddie’s stand in recommendation. Eddie can’t for the life of him understand why.

“Hey,” Mike says after an hour, leaning over into Eddie’s booth from his own. “You’ve had a lot of customers for your first day, I’m impressed!”

Eddie smiles and shakes his head, “Yeah, I’m surprised too. I definitely wouldn’t have gotten this much attention without doll guy’s help, though. He suggested my booth to every customer that would come by.”

“Doll guy?”

Eddie points to the man in the doll booth.

“Oh! Richie!” Mike exclaims, and Eddie nods, assuming that’s what the guy’s name is. Mike pauses, looking between Eddie and Richie once before smiling softly and muttering, “Interesting.”

Mike leans back into his own booth, leaving Eddie to wonder what that look on his face could possibly mean. 

Foot traffic slows as the afternoon goes on. There’s only another half hour left until everyone closes up shop. In the meantime, Eddie has given up on pretending he doesn’t look over at the doll booth—at Richie—every chance he gets. This time, however, when he glances at the stand, Richie isn’t there. Eddie looks to the right, and there he is, in the bird-themed booth to the right.

Richie is animatedly talking to two people. One of them was a tall woman with smooth dark skin and big curls. She towers over both Richie and the blond person standing next to them. 

The blond one looks exasperated at whatever story Richie is telling, but they lean into the tall woman when she puts a comforting arm around their waist, her fingers playing with the frills on the modest bird-print skirt they’re sporting.

“You should go introduce yourself.”

Eddie jumps at the sudden voice and finds Bill standing next to him, an amused expression on his face.

“Christ, Bill, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Eddie says, grasping at his chest.

“Shut up and m-mm-make some friends, you big baby!” Bill says. “I’ll watch your shop. Nobody’s coming by at this time, but I’ll call you if there are any s-struh-ss-stragglers.”

Eddie sighs once before steeling himself and nodding in determination. “Okay. Here I go.”

“Atta boy!” 

Eddie steps forward two feet, then he makes the mistake of making eye contact with the tall woman and _god_ she’s kind of so beautiful that it’s intimidating, and he promptly turns back around.

“Nope,” Bill says, forcefully grabbing him by the shoulders and spinning him back around, giving him a strong shove for good measure.

Eddie stumbles a bit before getting his balance under control. He sighs, accepting his fate, and marches onward. 

The tall woman is already smiling at him when he arrives at the booth, and she says in a voice as warm and comforting as a holiday meal, “Hi there, sweetheart. I’m Patty.” She takes his hand in hers and gives it a shake. He wonders if she could tell how nervous he was, and that’s why she holds on for a second longer than necessary, to comfort this man she doesn’t even know.

“Eddie,” he says, and he can understand why the blond one looks at her with stars in their eyes. “Eddie Kaspbrak.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Eddie,” Patty says, then gestures to the person next to her. “This is my spouse, Stan.”

They hold out a hand for Eddie, and with a firm shake they say, “Stanley Blum. Pleasure.”

They all turn to Richie at the same time, who, now that Eddie thinks about it, hasn’t stopped staring at Eddie since he came up to the booth. His jaw is slack and his fingers were twitchy, as if he weren’t prepared for Eddie to introduce himself so soon. Eddie’s not sure what to make of it.

Richie snaps out of it when Stan shoves at his ankle with their toe, and he blurts out, “Richie! Uh, Tozier. Richie Tozier, that’s me. Hi.” He purses his lips, as if forcing himself to keep his mouth shut.

Eddie chuckles and says, “I know. Mike told me your name.” He breathes in, and forces himself to say it. “Thanks for sending all of those customers over, by the way. I really appreciated that.”

Richie looks surprised, as if he hadn’t expected Eddie to acknowledge it, or maybe he thought Eddie hadn’t even noticed. He waves his hand through the air and scoffs, “Ah, well—you know.” And he leaves it at that.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, but before he can say anything, Bill is calling his name. Eddie turns to see a customer at his booth, and thank god for it because he wasn’t quite sure what he was going to say in response to Richie.

“Sorry, I gotta go,” Eddie says, tossing a thumb towards his booth as he starts to walk off.

“See ya, Eddie Spaghetti!” Richie calls out.

Eddie gives him a questioning look before turning back to his booth. He just barely catches Stan muttering, “Eddie Spaghetti?” 

“I panicked!” Richie hisses back.

Eddie keeps his smirk to himself.

Mike and Bill help Eddie pack up his things when 2pm rolls around, and Eddie does the same for them, although with Mike’s muscles they don’t seem to need a whole lot of assistance.

“So,” Mike says to Eddie as he puts the last of the unsold banana bread in a basket. “How was your first day? Think you’ll come back next week?”

Eddie blinks at him, then casts a subtle glance at the booth across the way. Richie has a ventriloquist doll sitting on his arm again, and he goes over to Ben and Bev and the doll’s mouth moves around a joke that Eddie can’t hear, and Bev throws her head back in a laugh that shakes her whole body.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I’m definitely coming back.”

And he does. Eddie returns the next weekend with a spring in his step. He tells himself he’s coming back for the satisfaction he gets with each sale, which is mostly true. Every time he sells something, knowing that he might be helping someone as anxious about food and health as he is, he feels good about himself.

But he can’t deny that the residents at the farmers market play a huge factor into why he’s so eager to return—more specifically, the resident Trashmouth, as Eddie has learned he is so often called.

Since he can’t seem to keep his eyes away from the doll booth for very long, Eddie has made a deal with himself. Only look when Richie isn’t looking. That’s what he repeats in his head as he sets up his booth for the day. _Only look when he’s not looking._

It turns out to be harder than he imagined. For the first hour, Eddie valiantly tries not to look at all, but he fails easily when he looks up and sees that Richie’s already looking at him. 

_Fuck_ , Eddie thinks. Staring at the cabbages as if he hadn’t been caught. 

Then again, he wasn’t the one who was caught. Richie was. 

With that revelation, Eddie glances up again. Sure enough, Richie looks just as flustered as Eddie, deliberately studying one of his wooden ballerina figurines. 

Eddie decides to press his luck, and lets himself stare at Richie until Richie finally looks up again. When their eyes meet, Richie’s eyebrows rise up on his forehead. ‘ _You’re still looking?_ ’ His face says. ‘ _That’s not how this game goes._ ’

Eddie doesn’t back down. He raises one eyebrow. Richie catches on that he won’t be the first to look away. A new game. Something flashes across Richie’s face—something like acceptance to Eddie’s challenge.

Richie straightens up—he’s much taller when he isn’t slouching, and Eddie steadfastly ignores the thump in his chest—and he faces Eddie head-on. He nods his head, making sure he still has Eddie’s attention. Eddie squints. Richie smirks before lifting up the ugliest doll Eddie has ever seen in his life. One eye was lopsided and bigger than the other. Its nose was huge and its smile was crooked and disturbing.

Richie points to the doll in his hand, points back at Eddie, and mouths, ‘It’s you.’

Eddie gapes and flips him the bird, quickly lowering his hand when a customer saunters past. Richie is already cackling, his whole body shaking with his laughter, and Eddie feels whatever connection they have grow just a little stronger.

The sun moves with the hour, beating down on Eddie’s back, and fuck, he keeps forgetting to get a tent like everyone else. The heat is making him feel more irritable, and it doesn’t help that there were a lot more customers today than last week. 

Then, there was his first truly _mean_ customer.

“This is bullshit,” the man shouts, wrinkles so deep in his forehead that it looked like his head was going to split open. 

“I promise, sir, I grew everything myself,” Eddie insists, gesturing to the array of fruits the man was inspecting.

“I know what a god damned self-grown tomato looks like! You’re trying to sell me bullshit, I won’t have it!” The man knocks one of the tomatoes to the ground, and Eddie holds in a gasp.

Before anything else can be done, the man is marching away with his cane smacking against the ground. Eddie quickly picks up the tomato from the ground, wiping away the dirt and grime with his sleeve. 

There’s a sting in his eyes, and Eddie wipes at them while he’s still crouched so no one can see, his cheeks growing warm with embarrassment. He stands up when he’s certain his face is dry. 

So what if someone yelled at him? It’s nothing to cry over. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but it _is_ because he worked hard to grow everything and these were more than just fruits and vegetables to him. They were personal to him. 

Eddie hears a sharp whistle and snaps his head up to look across the way, and it’s Richie, a devilish grin on his face. Luckily, no tears are left in Eddie’s eyes, but he knows he looks on the verge of a breakdown—but Richie doesn’t even point it out. Doesn’t mock him like Eddie thinks he will.

Instead, Richie holds up a mean-faced ventriloquist doll, points at the man who yelled at Eddie as he hobbles away (even his walk looks grumpy), and makes the doll’s mouth move in a mocking angry jabber. Richie’s mouth moves along with it—he hasn’t gotten any better at ventriloquism in the past week—his eyes going cross-eyed and his lips curling inward to hide his teeth until he looks even sillier than before.

Eddie snorts, so hard it hurts his nostrils, then slaps a hand over his mouth in surprise at the sound that came out of his mouth. He keeps chuckling through the gaps in his fingers until he finally gives up, letting his laughter rack through his body. 

It’s not even that funny, honestly. But it feels so good to laugh when Eddie was so close to falling apart, so he lets himself lose his shit in the middle of the farmers market. 

Eventually his laughter dies down, little giggles spilling from his lips. Eddie sighs, wiping at the tears in the corners of his eyes. When he finally calms down enough that he can see again, he finds Richie looking at him with what Eddie can only describe as a dopey smile on his face.

Eddie grins and grabs two tomatoes and a cucumber from their baskets, situating them on the table until they’re placed in a phallic shape. He points at it, then points at Richie before mouthing, ‘You’re a dick.’

Richie very purposefully ignores what Eddie was obviously trying to say. He instead looks down at his own crotch, then looks back up and creates a large space between his open palms, nodding in satisfaction, and Eddie knows he’s saying, ‘Yeah, it is pretty big.’ Richie wiggles his eyebrows absurdly, and Eddie shakes his head in disbelief, but he can feel that he’s smiling too.

It’s nearing 2pm when people start to pack up, and Eddie smiles when he notices Patty approaching his booth, the sun illuminating her hair. She reaches out and places what looks to be a crochet owl on his table, it’s brown wool contrasting her blood-red nails.

“I like to crochet a lot,” Patty says, almost sheepish. “I give one to all my friends. Stan has the most, of course. They like to fidget with them at their desk at work.” She blinks and raises her hands up as if to backtrack, “Not saying that you have to take them with you to work, or anywhere, really, ah. Just—I hope you like owls.”

She gives Eddie a smile before hurrying back to her booth with Stan. Eddie watches as she says some hushed words to them, and Stan rubs her arm encouragingly. Eddie can just barely hear Stan say in a soothing tone, “You did great, I’m sure he adores it, babylove.” 

Eddie blinks. He must have been too intimidated by her when they first met to really notice that she’s just as anxious about making good impressions as anyone else.

Eddie picks up the little owl and traces his thumb over its wing, feeling himself get choked up for the second time today. ‘Friend,’ she had called him. They were friends.

“Oh yeah, the day Pats gave me a crochet snail I started weeping like a baby,” a voice says in front of him.

Eddie sniffs and rubs at his eye, “Shut the fuck up, Richie, I’m not crying.”

“Hey,” Richie says, raises his hands in mock surrender, “nothing wrong with a few manly tears. Need any help packing up?”

Eddie feels his hackles start to rise. _I’m a man, I can do it myself,_ his brain supplies first. Then he shakes his head at himself, brushing off the thoughts. There’s nothing wrong with needing help.

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie says. “Thanks, Richie.”

Richie moves quickly and efficiently, which Eddie wouldn’t have expected from someone who looks like the bull-in-a-china-shop metaphor was invented specifically to describe them. 

“I wasn’t sure if I’d see you back here,” Richie says as he picks up a handful of the unsold herbs. Eddie points where they should go, and Richie complies.

“Why wouldn’t I be back? This place is really cool. And it was nice meeting new people. You get tired of Bill and Mike after a while,” Eddie teases.

“Hey!” Bill shouts from their booth.

“Stop eavesdropping!” Eddie shouts back.

Richie snickers. He clears his throat, then says, “I’m glad. Uh, that you came back.”

Eddie hopes his face doesn’t look as dumb as he feels, but then he catches Mike giving him an amused smirk, so Eddie discreetly flips him off before finally replying, “Um, thank you. I’m glad I came back too.”

They finish packing everything up, and Richie straightens up, and fuck, he really is tall. He stands for a moment, kind of bouncing on his heels, as if he were convincing himself to do something. Eddie waits patiently until Richie finally pulls out a slip of paper and shoves it into Eddie’s hand.

“My number,” Richie says. “You know, in case you have any, like, farmers market related emergencies. Or if you just, I dunno, want to hang out or something. It’s whatever.”

Eddie looks down at the scribble of numbers in the crumpled paper slip and feels the sun’s heat burn onto his cheeks like hot irons. Richie can definitely see his blush, so Eddie keeps his head hung low.

“Okay,” Eddie says, voice barely a whisper in fear of it cracking and furthering his embarrassment.

“Okay?” Richie says softly.

“Yeah, I’ll text you,” Eddie says.

“Ah, cool. Cool. Very cool,” Richie says. “I’ll, uh—I’ll go—you know.” He gestures towards his own booth before walking off. He trips on the way, and there’s that bull in a china shop metaphor Eddie was expecting.

Eddie can feel the apples of his cheeks starting to ache from his smile, and he turns around to see both Bill and Mike staring at him. Bill has his tongue literally in his cheek, and Mike wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“Shut up,” Eddie says, and Mike barks out a laugh.

The next Sunday Eddie goes to the farmers market, there’s a considerably large amount of rainbow in the surrounding areas compared to its usual dull brown and gray tones. There are rainbow flags hung in windows and on street lamps and even in the front of restaurants. 

“Oh, yeah, the pride festival is coming up in a few weeks, so people are getting decked out already,” Richie says when Eddie asks about the colorful change in scenery. “It’s pretty cool, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, really cool, actually. I used to live in a pretty small-minded town so it’s a nice change,” Eddie says, leaning against the table where Richie has a new basket filled with finger puppets that the kids are sure to love. “Are you going?”

“To pride?” Richie asks, and Eddie nods. “Hell yeah, definitely. Are—are you?”

“I’ve never been to one,” Eddie says. He considers it for a moment longer before nodding his head, “You know what, yeah. Yeah, I’ll go.”

“Cool, cool, cool. It’s really fun,” Richie says. He scratches at his chin and adds, “And, you know, uh, allies are totally welcome.”

Eddie pauses and watches Richie mess around with a doll, very clearly trying to act casual and failing. “Is that your subtle way of asking me if I’m gay?” Eddie asks outright.

“What?” Richie fumbles and nearly drops the doll, eyes wide. “No! Of course not! I—that would be—I mean—”

“Because I am,” Eddie says, and Richie halts. “Gay, that is.”

Richie gulps and nods his head a little too vigorously to be casual. “Cool. Yeah. Nice.”

Eddie snorts. “Nice.”

The rest of his time at the farmers market that day seems to go by quicker than ever, now with the thought of pride on his mind. He stops by Stan and Patty’s booth at one point and Stan gives him a sample of one of their new honey mixtures. It just tastes like regular honey to Eddie, but he tells them it’s the best honey he’s ever tried, and Patty lights up at the compliment. 

(Stan doesn’t look as believing, but they smile nonetheless, so Eddie takes that as a win.)

Bev stops by his booth at one point to drop off a melon scented candle, saying Mike mentioned how it was his favorite scent. There’s a small poem attached to the wick that Eddie can just tell was written by Ben, despite it being signed by Anonymous. 

And Richie continues to do what Richie does. He makes faces at Eddie that are sure to make him laugh, and when he’s not doing that, he’s playing with the kids of customers who need somewhere to keep their children until their shopping is done. Eddie catches him putting on a godawful puppet show for an audience of three kids, wiggling his fingers to make the finger puppets dance and come alive.

Eddie realizes the farmers market has started to feel more like a home than his own house does.

Eddie paints as soon as he gets home from the market. Nothing calms him more than painting. He lets the paintbrush guide him, relying on the fact that it’s not a commission so he doesn’t feel the stress of making it perfect.

At least, that’s what tells himself to do. There’s no need to make it perfect, it’s just to relax.

But the woman that he’s painting isn’t turning out right. Her eyes are supposed to be hazel, Eddie wanted them to be hazel, but they’re too blue. Eddie takes the green and tries to fix it. He takes the brown and tries to fix it. He _fixes_ it over and over until her eyes are a mess, and he swipes across the canvas in frustration. 

“Shit,” he mutters, staring at the block of paint across her eyes. It’s not bad. He can say he did that on purpose. But _he_ knows that’s not how it was supposed to look.

This happens often. Small things that shouldn’t bother him instead bug him to the point that he wants to throw all of his work into the garbage disposal. He knows he’s getting tense. He needs a distraction.

He remembers the new contact in his phone, and dials the number.

“ _Yello?_ ” 

“Richie?” Eddie says. “It’s Eddie.”

There’s a sharp inhale on the other end of the line and then a crash, followed by a muffled curse. Eddie could swear he hears a hissed, “ _It’s him, it’s him, shut the fuck up!_ ” Eddie smiles to himself.

“ _Eddie?_ ” Richie says after he seems to get control of himself. “ _Uh—hey man! What’s up?_ ”

“Nothing, I just—it’s stupid, honestly,” Eddie mutters.

“ _No, hey, no, of course it isn’t. Don’t say that_.”

Eddie sighs, feeling a little foolish now that he has Richie on the line. “You know what, just forget I called, I’m sorry.”

“ _Wait!_ ” Richie calls out. “ _Send me your address. I’ll be over as soon as I can_.”

Richie hangs up before Eddie can, leaving Eddie to stare at his phone in bafflement. After thoroughly debating the pros and cons with himself, he eventually sends Richie his address. 

Richie arrives in thirty minutes with a DVD and a plastic container filled with oatmeal cookies.

“They’re gluten free healthy bullshit cookies, I think, but I also got a bag of cheesy puffs if you want to indulge yourself tonight,” Richie says, pulling said bag of cheesy puffs from behind him and setting all of the stuff he brought down on the kitchen counter.

“Shit, I didn’t clean up,” Eddie says, scurrying into the living room to pack up his art supplies. Richie follows behind him, eyes wide.

“Holy fuck, Eds,” Richie mutters, gazing at all of the paintings Eddie has strewn about the room. “Why don’t you advertise this stuff at the market? You’re amazing.”

Eddie’s face burns at the compliment, unused to anyone but Mike and customers seeing his artwork.

“Honestly, I’ve never really thought about that before,” Eddie admits as he cleans off his brushes. “When Mike suggested I start selling the food I grow at the farmers market, I had never actually gone before, so I thought people only sell food, like what you see in movies. It wasn’t until I met you all that I realized you could sell other stuff like—”

“Like creepy puppets?” Richie finishes for him, echoing the time Eddie admitted he found Richie’s puppets disturbing if he looked for too long.

Eddie laughs, “Okay, I admit they’ve grown on me. But yeah, like puppets.”

“Well, now you know better,” Richie says. He picks up a smaller painting Eddie had done of a boy in a field, eyes tracing every inch of the canvas. “And I promise you, people would be stupid not to be interested in your work.”

Eddie ducks his head as he smiles, clearing space for Richie to sit.

“So,” Richie says, grabbing the snacks and DVD before plopping down on the couch. “I don’t mean to be rude, but being an artist isn’t exactly the most high paying job, and as far as I can see you don’t have any roommates to help pay for this little slice of life cottage...”

Eddie sits down next to him, grabbing one of the oatmeal cookies just to give his hands something to do. “No, that’s a fair question. Kind of a long story though.”

Richie wiggles his body until he’s slumped even further into the couch cushions, gesturing to himself as if to say, ‘I’m comfy and I’ve got time.’ Eddie laughs and bites into the cookie.

“Okay,” he says, swallowing the cookie and giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts. “Well. My mom was a manipulative bitch.” Richie raises his eyebrows and Eddie smiles. “Don’t worry, it’s relevant to the story. After my dad died, she was so scared that I would be next that she tried to shield me from anything that could ever do me harm. And I don’t just mean dangerous shit you should obviously protect your kids from. She had me convinced that if I ever ate a single fried food, the oils and grease would clog up my arteries and kill me before I even graduated junior high.”

“Ah,” Richie says, a look of understanding on his face. Eddie nods in confirmation.

“Explains a lot, doesn’t it?” Eddie says. “Well, one good thing came from all of that. When she finally kicked the bucket, she was apparently so worried that I wouldn’t be able to take care of myself that she left me a hefty sum of money in her will. So,” he gestures to his home, to the acres of grass outside the window. “Here I am.”

“Kind of lonely,” Richie says quietly, shuffling his foot until it’s tucked under his thigh. “Being out here all by yourself.”

Eddie shrugs. “It can be. Sometimes it’s nice—most of the time it’s nice—but...yeah. It can be.”

Richie stares at him for a moment, and Eddie looks back. They let themselves sit in the silence. Eddie thinks he could get used to sitting in silence if it’s with someone like Richie.

Then something catches Richie’s eye, and he’s out of his seat in a second. “Is that your mom?” Richie says, walking towards a framed picture on the wall.

Eddie feels himself blanch. He had forgotten about that picture. Mike has seen it, but Mike has known him since—well, before.

“Uh, yeah, that’s her,” Eddie says, because he doesn’t need to look at it to know which picture he’s referring to. He knows what it looks like. His mom, taking up more than half of the photo, and there in front of her, standing prim and proper in a sundress and pigtails—

“Is this your sister?” Richie asks, innocent.

Eddie feels a sweat break out onto his forehead. This wasn’t how he had planned on telling Richie. He didn’t have a plan at all, actually. 

“No, um—” Eddie clears his throat when Richie turns to look at him, obviously noticing the change in Eddie’s demeanor. Eddie can’t look him in the eye. He continues in a fragile voice that can barely be called a whisper, “That’s me when I was younger.”

“Oh,” Richie says, “cool.” He gives the photo another cursory glance before sitting back down on the couch. 

“I’m not ashamed of it,” Eddie says when Richie doesn’t say anything else, just starts digging into the cheesy puffs bag. Richie pops one into his mouth as Eddie begins to ramble. “That’s not why I didn’t tell anyone. It’s just—I mean, it’s not like—”

“Whatever you’re about to say,” Richie interrupts, “you don’t need to convince me of anything. This doesn’t change how I see you at all, Eds.”

Eddie feels his eyes start to sting again, and he ignores the voice that says _men don’t cry._

“I don’t see Ben any differently for being a trans guy, or Stan any differently for being non-binary,” Richie goes on to say, his voice casual in a calculated way, like he wants Eddie to know that he cares but not to the point where it seems like he’s babying him. Eddie appreciates it more than Richie knows. “Sure, they might be more open about it than you want to be, but that’s okay. I’m happy you were comfortable enough to tell me, even though I can tell you weren’t really prepared for it. But you don’t owe me a single thing, okay?”

Eddie nods slowly, the feeling in his fingers returning. “So...you’re not going to ask me about it?”

“Do you want me to ask about it?” Richie says. When all Eddie does is shrug, Richie continues, “I only want to know whatever you want to tell me. You’re Eddie. That’s all that matters to me.”

A tear slips from Eddie’s eye, and Richie is kind enough not to say anything about it, although he does give Eddie a kind smile. “I think,” Eddie says, his voice rough, “I want to watch that movie you brought.”

“Yeah?” Richie says softly.

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Richie smiles.

Richie had brought _Alien_ , which is apparently his favorite movie of all time. Eddie says he hasn’t seen it since he was a tween, which Richie takes as a personal offense. 

When the movie is set up and the lights are off, Eddie glances at Richie lounging against the arm of the couch with the bag of cheesy puffs in his lap and decides to take a chance. Eddie scoots forward, ignoring Richie’s eyes growing wider the closer he gets, and tucks himself under the arm Richie has thrown across the back of the couch.

Eddie grabs a cheesy puff and pops it into his mouth, looking up at Richie when he makes a questioning sound.

“Felt like indulging myself,” Eddie says, and Richie blushes furiously. 

Eventually Eddie feels Richie lower his arm until it’s wrapped loosely around Eddie’s shoulders. If Eddie were braver he would rest his head against Richie’s chest, maybe even put his hand on his knee. But he thinks if he did that, either he or Richie would combust from nervous energy. Yeah, this will have to do.

Eddie blinks, and every time he closes his eyes, they stay shut for a second longer. An hour into the movie he closes his eyes, and the next time they open, sunlight is streaming through the open curtains. 

He’s laying on the couch with a blanket from the hallway cupboard thrown across his body, his shoes and socks placed neatly next to the couch where they hadn’t been before. Normally Eddie would be appalled at the idea of anyone being near his feet, but thinking of Richie taking off his shoes just so he’d sleep more comfortably made Eddie’s stomach erupt with butterflies.

On the coffee table is a pink sticky note, and Eddie bolts forward, peeling the note off of the wood with a satisfying _shlick_. 

_Didn’t wanna wake you up. Sleep well, Eds._

_\- Richie_

_P.S. you snore._

Eddie snorts, tracing his thumb over the drawing in the corner. He assumes it’s supposed to be him. His eyes are closed and drool spills from his lips as a bunch of Z’s trail from his open mouth.

“Dumbass,” he mutters as he sticks the note onto the fridge, adding a piece of scotch tape so the note will stay put even when the stick has worn off.

“What made you decide to sell dolls and stuff?” Eddie says the next Sunday, poking at one of the wooden figurines in Richie’s booth. He picks it up, marveling at the detail in the hands and face. “Shit, did you seriously make all of these yourself?”

“Yes, sir, sure did,” Richie says proudly, running a finger along one of the puppets. “I wanted to be a ventriloquist when I was younger, made my own dummy and everything. Turns out I’m shit at ventriloquism—”

Eddie snorts, “I could have told you that.” 

Richie ignores him, but he smiles nonetheless as he continues, “—but _apparently_ I’ve got a knack for making dolls and puppets and figurines and shit. Seeing something I made come to life, figuratively speaking—I mean, as far as I’m aware, I’m pretty sure they’re not alive—it made me really happy, I guess. I wanted to be able to share that with others. Sure, I don’t have the most popular booth, yeah, but my day job gets me enough money that I can just enjoy the kids’ smiles when they play with the dolls, you know? They have fun with what I create, that’s all that matters.”

“That’s...honestly really sweet, Rich,” Eddie says.

“Plus it gives me an unlimited supply of wood jokes.”

“And there he is,” Eddie sighs, and Richie’s laugh follows him as he walks back to his own booth.

He thinks about it though, as he watches a kid bound up to Richie’s stand and Richie whips out a marionette with a frilly dress. He makes it dance to the music playing through the overhead speakers, and the kid dances along, and Richie bounces on his feet as if he were trying not to twirl away at any moment. Eddie’s so focused on the moment that he doesn’t notice the drop of rain at first.

Eddie yelps as a freezing glob of rain slips through the neck of his shirt, back arching as if he could jump out of his skin and away from the sudden chill. He looks up, and the sky is cloudy. 

_It’s dry season though_ , Eddie thinks frantically. _Fuck, fuck, it’s not supposed to rain._

Eddie never remembered to buy a tent to cover his booth. All of his stuff is going to get soaked. _He’s_ going to get soaked.

Frozen in a moment of indecision, Eddie looks over at Richie, and Richie is already staring at him with wide, alarmed eyes.

Just as the next drops of rain begin to fall, Richie vaults over his table like the hero in every action movie to exist. The force he uses to propel himself forward is enough to have the wooden figures on the table wobble precariously, but thankfully they stay put. He bolts over to Eddie’s booth and immediately starts grabbing whatever is within arm’s reach.

“Go, go, go!” Richie shouts through crazed laughter, and it’s enough to get Eddie into action, shrieking as the rain comes down a bit harder.

“Christ!” Eddie says, but he’s smiling.

It’s cramped, but they somehow manage to get all of Eddie’s produce under Richie’s tent (and a little bit under Bev and Ben’s as well once they say he’s more than welcome) just before the rain really starts to pour.

“Nice of you to join us on the superior side of the market, Eddie!” Patty calls from her booth with Stan.

Eddie waves shyly and turns back to Richie, who still has a basket of beets in his arms since there wasn’t any more room left on the tables. 

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie says. “It’s supposed to be dry season, I should have checked the weather app. I am—I am so stupid, fuck.”

“Hey, hey, chill out, Eds!” Richie says, beaming as if he couldn’t have thought of a better way to start the day than with an extra unplanned shower. “It was an easy mistake. Could’ve happened to anyone, buddy, so quit stressing. Besides, this way I have an excuse to bug you in even closer proximity.”

Eddie knows Richie is joking with him to get him to say something snarky back, and he wants to. But in that moment he just feels so genuinely grateful for Richie’s help that he takes the basket from his hands, sets it on the ground, and wraps his arms around him in an embrace.

“Thank you,” Eddie says, muffled against Richie’s chest.

Eddie can hear Richie’s stuttered inhale, and then he’s wrapping his arms around Eddie’s back. “Of course, Eds. Anything for you.” 

The rain is mild, but it’s enough to put off customers, so it ends up being a fairly slow day. Eddie doesn’t expect to sell anything when all of his produce is strewn about among a bunch of puppets, so he lounges on the extra fold out chair Richie set up, and they sit and talk. Richie tells wild stories that Eddie is skeptical are true, but they make him laugh, and he suspects that that’s Richie’s goal.

Eventually, Eddie says, “You mentioned earlier that you have a job that pays you fairly well. What do you do?”

Richie glances down, pushing at the cuticles on his fingernails. “I’m, uh—I’m a comedian, actually.”

Eddie thinks on it for a moment, then says, “That makes sense.”

“Really?” Richie says, eyebrows scrunching together to form a deep wrinkle in his forehead. “I figured you’d say I’m not funny enough.”

Richie laughs, but Eddie can sense the underlying insecurity in his words. Eddie puckers his lips to the side. Richie deserves some sincerity every now and then.

“I’m not going to say this again so you better listen closely,” Eddie says, and Richie is already straightening in his seat at the seriousness in Eddie’s tone. Eddie sighs and bites the bullet. “You’re funny. Like, really funny. I honestly don’t think anyone makes me laugh like you do.”

Richie’s brows raise up high on his forehead, his eyes wide. He smiles a toothy smile, big and goofy. He’s obviously flustered, if the flush on his ears and neck are anything to go by, so he makes up for it by leaning over and shouting, “Hey, Staniel, did you hear that? Eds thinks I’m funny!”

“Did you pay him to say that?” Stan calls back.

“Don’t listen to them, Richie, dear, they laugh at all of your shows,” Patty says. “They just don’t want to admit they like you.”

“Patricia!” Stan says, scandalized.

It’s enough to end the conversation, but Eddie notices the soft way Richie glances at him for the rest of the afternoon.

Pride comes quicker than he expects. He had put off figuring out what to wear, but now it’s the day of the pride festival, and he’s pacing his home in a t-shirt and boxers with no clue how colorful he’s supposed to look for such an event.

“You’re gay right?” Eddie says as soon as Richie picks up the phone.

“ _Uh. Last time I checked, yeah_ ,” Richie says.

“What do gay people wear? How do I look gay?”

“ _Okay, this is definitely not my area of expertise_ ,” Richie says. “ _Hang in there, I’m sending help_.”

There’s a knock not long after, and Bev and Ben walk in as soon as Eddie opens the door.

“So, I hear you need help dressing for your first pride!” Bev claps her hands in excitement. “I hope you don’t mind I brought Ben along, we were out when Richie called.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your date or anything,” Eddie says as Bev ushers him into his room where his clothes lie strewn about the bed.

“Oh, trust me, you didn’t ruin anything,” Ben says, delicately moving a pant leg so he can sit on a clear spot on the bed while Bev searches through Eddie’s closet. “Fashion emergencies are Bev’s bread and butter.”

“You’re my bread and butter,” Bev says, placing a peck on Ben’s cheek, and Eddie looks away.

“Sorry for the mess. I kind of don’t know anything about fashion,” Eddie says. 

“I think you’re pretty fashionable Eddie,” Ben says.

“Oh, thanks, man, but I mean—like...”

“Gay fashion?” Bev laughs when Eddie sheepishly shrugs. “Honey, I don’t know how new you are at this, but there’s no one way to dress. But pride is a time where you can be whoever you want to be, you can dress however you want to dress! That’s what I’m here for: to help you unlock what’s already inside you.”

Eddie smiles, staring at her from where she makes him stand in front of his full-length mirror. “Thanks, Bev. I really appreciate this.”

“Of course,” Bev says sincerely, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Now, shirt off.”

“Huh?” Eddie pales.

“We can leave the room if you’re not comfortable with that,” Ben adds, and Bev nods.

“No, it’s—” Eddie falters, but steels himself. “It’s fine.”

_They won’t care. I’m just Eddie._

He takes a deep breath and whips off his shirt, nice and quick. He notices their eyes move to his chest, where he knows his surgery scars are, and then they look away just as quickly. Neither of them say anything. Bev just smiles and hands him the shirt she had plucked from his closet.

“I think you’d look nice in this one,” she says.

Eddie takes the shirt, muttering, “Thanks.”

They don’t say anything once he has the shirt on, and they don’t say anything when he pulls on a pair of jeans, and they _still_ don’t say anything when he just stands and stares at them through the mirror, waiting.

“So,” Eddie finally says, because he can’t take it. “There’s no way you guys didn’t see that.”

Ben laughs, and Bev smiles kindly. “It doesn’t matter to us, Eddie. If you want to talk about it, though, we can.”

Eddie thinks about it, then nods, determined. “You know what,” Eddie says, “there actually is something I want to talk about. It’s—it kinda has to do with what you saw.”

Bev sits down next to Ben on the bed, both giving Eddie their full attention. This wasn’t what Eddie was planning on doing today, but now that they’ve offered to lend an ear, Eddie realizes just how badly he’s needed to talk to someone about his thoughts. Especially to someone who will understand him better like Ben will.

“So, to start off, um,” Eddie says, fidgeting with the edge of his shirt. “I may or may not, uh...have feelings...for someone.” They nod along, no surprise in their features. “I’m sure you guys know who it is. I’m not exactly subtle, but I don’t think I’m ready to say it out loud just yet.”

“That’s perfectly fine, Eddie,” Bev says, smiling in encouragement. 

“Right, um. Well,” Eddie blows out an anxious breath of air, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. “So, I know he’s gay. And he knows that I’m—you know. Trans. But—but I don’t know if—if that will be a problem...?”

Immediately Ben is speaking up, “Eddie, genitals absolutely do not equal gender.”

He barely gets through the sentence before Eddie is saying, “No, no, yeah, of course, I know that. But, I mean—I’ve just...I’ve spent so long thinking that I don’t...count?” Eddie sees their faces drop in the mirror and he looks down at his feet to avoid their eyes. “Because I don’t have, you know...those parts. And I know it’s just fucking—internalized transphobia bullshit, I _know_ that, but man, it’s so fucking hard to get out of this mindset that all I am is what’s in my pants, you know?”

“Eddie,” Bev says, just that, just his name in that soft, understanding way. She leans over to hold his hand, and he realizes that his cheeks are wet. He doesn’t know when he started crying.

“I just—I just can’t—what if I’m not enough, this way, you know?” Eddie says, voice cracking. “I’m short and I can’t grow a beard well and sometimes I get emotional and I think ‘fuck, Eddie, you’re acting like a girl’ and then I just want to fucking punch myself because that’s some internalized misogyny bullshit and— _fuck!_ ”

“Eddie, buddy, take a deep breath,” Ben says. Eddie copies his motions, breathing in when Ben raises his hands and breathing out when he lowers them. “Good, very good. Now listen to me, man. That kind of stuff is drilled into your head from the moment you’re born. It’s not easy to overcome. But you’ve already come so far! I know how easy it is to worry about how ‘manly’ you’re being, whether or not you ‘count.’ You’re not alone in that. But I can absolutely promise you that you _are_ man enough. Whether you’re masculine or feminine, stoic or emotional, none of that shit matters. And this guy that you’re into—if I know him like you say I probably do, then I know for a fact that none of this will matter to him.”

“And if he does reduce you to what’s in your pants,” Bev adds, “we’ll have no problem with beating him to a pulp.”

Eddie laughs, and it’s wet from his tears but it’s genuine. 

By the time they find an outfit for Eddie, Ben and Bev convince Eddie to ask this “mystery guy” to pride. When Eddie says that he already knows he’s going to pride, Ben is adamant that there’s a difference between _meeting up_ somewhere and _going together._ So once Ben and Bev leave, Eddie gives himself a little pep talk in the mirror, and dials Richie’s number.

“ _The one and only Trashmouth speaking!_ ”

“You’re such a pain,” Eddie says in response.

“ _Eds! What a delight! How’d the fashion emergency go?_ ”

“Oh, actually, Bev found a really good outfit. I think I’m actually gonna feel good at pride tonight,” Eddie admits, fumbling with the top button on his salmon shirt.

“ _That’s great!_ ”

“Ha, yeah,” Eddie says, trying to get to his point before he runs out of steam. “Speaking of pride, um. I was wondering if you wanted to go?”

“ _I am going, I told you_ ,” Richie says. Eddie stifles a groan. 

“No, no, uh. I mean, with me,” Eddie says. “Do you want to go with me?”

There’s a long moment of silence where Eddie pulls the phone away from his face just to make sure he hadn’t hung up.

“ _Yes!_ ” Richie finally says, and Eddie sighs in relief. “ _Yeah, absolutely, um. I’ll pick you up soon, then?_ ”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“ _Okay. Cool_.”

“Cool,” Eddie echoes.

“ _Cool_.”

Eddie pauses, waiting for the dial tone, then when it doesn’t come he says, “Bye, Richie.”

“ _Right! Yeah, bye, Eds._ ”

Richie picks up Eddie in one of the loudest, most obnoxious outfits Eddie has ever seen. As soon as he opens the door, Eddie nearly shields his eyes at the clash of colors and patterns. It’s truly horrendous, and yet somehow, Eddie thinks, it works well on Richie.

(He won’t admit that, of course.)

“Wow,” Richie says, scanning Eddie’s outfit. Eddie looks down at his sensible jean shorts and the salmon button up shirt that Bev told him to tuck into a belt to ‘tie it all together’. It’s nothing fancy, but it makes Eddie feel confident. Richie’s reaction only helps. “You look good.”

“And you look like the human embodiment of an eye strain,” Eddie says. “I’m getting a headache just looking at you.”

“At least I’m reflective enough that I won’t get hit by a car.”

“I wish you would.”

Richie barks out a laugh as they climb into his truck, and they drive down the winding roads. Eddie knows it’ll be a few minutes until they reach any recognizable landmarks, so he closes his eyes and feels the warmth of the sun pass over his face in between the branches and leaves of the overhead trees, the inside of his eyelids flashing red with the sunlight.

Eddie turns his head when he senses eyes on him, and when he opens his eyes, Richie is looking at him, his features soft.

“Eyes on the road,” Eddie mumbles.

“You look tired,” Richie says in response. “You should rest until we arrive.”

Eddie grumbles, but he can already feel himself slipping under. It’s just so warm and comfortable, and he had been stressing all day. He really could use some rest.

“C’mon, Eds, I’ll wake you when we get there,” Richie says. 

“Yeah...m’kay,” Eddie says, curling up in the seat.

Eddie closes his eyes, and in his sleep-drunken haze, he stretches his arm out just a little bit and opens his hand, palm up, in invitation. For a second he feels nothing, and he almost lowers his hand, but then long fingers intertwine with his own. They’re bigger than his, the knuckles thick and bumping against his own, but Richie doesn’t squeeze them to the point that it pinches. He just holds Eddie’s hand loosely, giving him the option to pull away if Eddie wants. He doesn’t, and Eddie drifts off with their fingers intertwined. 

He wakes up to the feeling of a hand in his hair. Eddie makes a mumbling sound to show he’s awake, and the hand leaves, and he nearly huffs in complaint.

“We’re here, buddy, let’s go,” Richie says, and Eddie looks out the window.

He steps out of the truck, hopping down onto the gravel. They’re in a parking lot. Richie says they’ll have to walk a block to get there. As they walk, Eddie spots two teens linked at the arm walking in the same direction. One of them has a gay flag hanging out of their back pocket, and the other is wearing the trans flag like a cape.

“Are we supposed to do that?” Eddie asks, pointing towards the young couple.

“Only if you want,” Richie says. “They sell flags there.”

“Hm,” Eddie says, and leaves it at that. 

They finally make it to the entrance to the festival, and Eddie has to stop in his tracks to marvel at it. He’s seen pictures of pride festivals before, sure, but it’s a whole other experience actually being here. He’s never seen so much color in one place. There’s glitter and confetti and every flag you can think of and more. He spots one vendor doing face paint, and Eddie feels a fierce determination flame in his chest.

“There,” Eddie says, and Richie yelps comically when Eddie yanks on his hand, hauling him towards the booth.

It’s not that he feels the need to prove anything. He just wants to be himself for once without fearing what people believe. He just wants to let go.

Eddie sits in the chair and asks for two flags on each of his cheeks. He tries not to squirm too much at the gooey feeling on his skin, instead focusing on Richie watching him a few feet away. They make eye contact and keep it the whole time he gets his face painted, and Richie’s grin widens with each passing second. Finally, the painter hands him a mirror, and Eddie watches the sun glint against the trans colors on his right cheek, and the rainbow colors on his left.

Richie gets two rainbows painted on each of his cheeks, and he beams at the result.

“Hell yeah, the party has begun,” Richie says.

“Not yet, it hasn’t,” a voice calls out, and Eddie and Richie turn to see Bev and Ben walking towards them.

“Bev, my dear!” Richie shouts, hugging her tightly. 

Bev holds a bisexual flag in her hand, and Ben wears a shirt that says ‘NOBODY KNOWS I’M TRANS’ in big block letters that makes Eddie snort.

“You look great, Eddie,” Ben says loudly over the blasting music.

“Of course he does, I dressed him,” Bev says proudly.

“Thank you again, guys, really,” Eddie says, hugging them both in a tight embrace. 

Ben rubs his back and says in his ear, “I’m proud of you, buddy.”

Eddie pulls back and smiles brightly, blinking the tears from his eyes before they can fall. 

Suddenly Bev is shrieking in delight, and Eddie turns to see her running up to Patty as if they hadn’t seen each other in ages (opposed to the mere hours it’s probably been). 

Patty bends down to hug Bev, and Eddie realizes she’s grown in height. He looks down to see her platform shoes, the colors of the pansexual flag seemingly self-painted along the sides. Eddie looks to her right to see Stan, who, to Eddie’s surprise, comes strutting up in high-heels. They wear a white dress shirt and a black tie, along with a lacy white corset that shimmers in the sunlight.

“Hot _damn_ , Stan!” Richie shouts, giving an extra wolf whistle for effect.

“Cool it, Tozier,” Patty says teasingly. “Took a lot of convincing, but I’m glad they let me dress them up.”

Stan rolls their eyes but eagerly accepts Patty’s kiss on the cheek with a fond smile.

“You mean to tell me this is your doing?” Bev says, eyebrows raised. “Patricia, I could kiss you.”

“Save it for the after party, my love,” Patty says with a laugh.

While the sun is still up, it’s the most fun Eddie has ever had. Mike and Bill show up eventually, with Bill holding a bi flag like Beverly’s and Mike wearing the pan flag around his waist. They take pictures and talk with other people that make Eddie feel like he isn’t so alone. The music is loud but bearable, and he even finds himself nodding along to the beat. It’s amazing, really.

That changes when the sun goes down. 

Once it’s dark, it’s like Eddie’s hyper-aware of everything else. The music is all he can hear, the lights are too bright. The face paint on his skin feels sticky and suffocating instead of refreshing like before.

“Hey, are you okay?” Richie says in his ear. Eddie realizes he had started to clutch at his chest.

“I’m fine, I’m just...I can’t really breathe?” Eddie says like a question. His chest feels tight, like someone’s stepping on his lungs with a lead shoe. 

He barely finishes his sentence before Richie is ushering him out of the crowd at breakneck speed with his hand on Eddie’s back. “Move, move, move,” he says in a surprisingly commanding voice when one group of kids block the way, and they disperse quickly to let them through.

They make it to the front entrance in no time at all, at which point Eddie has calmed down a little and now just feels like a fool.

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie gasps and plops down on the sidewalk. “I just ruined your pride. My first time at pride and I fucking ruin it for you.”

Richie hums and sits himself down next to Eddie. “Don’t give yourself so much credit,” he says, handing Eddie his water bottle, which he accepts gratefully. “Pride to me isn’t about the lights and the glitter and the drag. I bring pride with me every day. You aren’t ruining a single thing.”

Eddie sighs and leans his head against Richie’s shoulder. Richie tenses for a second before relaxing and placing his hand on Eddie’s knee. 

“You wanna go back? Or we can go somewhere else if you’d like,” Richie says.

“You still wanna hang out with me?” Eddie says.

“Of course!” Richie says, as if the answer were obvious. “Pride is fun, but I’d have just as much fun chilling with you.”

Eddie glances up at Richie, and Richie looks down. Eddie blinks, then says, “Do you think we can go to your place?”

Richie looks taken aback at first, but he recovers quickly. “I mean, it’s not as cool as your place but if that’s what you want...”

“It is,” Eddie says.

“Well, then,” Richie says, rising to his feet and pulling Eddie up with him. “Off we go!”

It doesn’t take nearly as long to get to Richie’s place as it does to get to Eddie’s. Richie explains on the way that he lives with Bev and Ben—and yes, there have been too many instances of walking in on shit he wishes he never saw. But luckily they’re still at the festival, so the house will be empty.

When they arrive, Richie asks if Eddie wants to see his workshop, to which Eddie eagerly nods his head. Richie looks a little sheepish as he leads him to the garage, and Eddie wonders if Richie’s ever really shown anyone his workshop before other than Bev and Ben. It feels like when Eddie showed Richie his art, even if it was kind of an accident. Like showing someone a piece of your soul.

When Richie opens the garage door, Eddie can’t help the surprised gasp that escapes his lips. The room is covered wall to wall with wood and supplies, and there are several tables filled with finished dolls and puppets.

“Jesus, Rich,” Eddie says, walking up to one of the dolls. “How long have you been making these again?”

“Since I was a kid,” Richie says. “Never sold that many, but I never stopped making them either, so they just kind of...collected. Kinda weird, I know.”

“No, it’s fucking impressive,” Eddie says, and Richie makes a pleased noise.

Then Eddie spots a wooden figurine at the end of the table. It looks recently carved. He walks up to it and picks it up, and he hears Richie’s breath stutter. He can see why.

It’s a man, his eyes closed in a blissful expression. His hair is neat and tidy, with a few flyaways that give it character. His fingers curl around the handle of a fruit basket. 

“It’s me,” Eddie whispers.

Richie doesn’t say anything, but Eddie can feel him walking up behind him. Richie reaches over his shoulder and Eddie gasps at their close proximity. Richie gently takes the figure from Eddie, their fingers brushing, and sets it down on the table.

“Careful,” Richie says, quiet. “I like that one.”

Eddie finally turns around, having to tilt his head up to look into Richie’s eyes. 

“It’s beautiful,” Eddie says.

Richie inhales, as if steeling himself. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says in a breath.

They stand there, and for a moment Eddie feels like he’s back at the farmers market, playing their little game where they see how long they can look at the other before they have to look away. But there are no customers to interrupt them. It’s new territory. A new game.

If it’s a new game, then Eddie’s going to make his own rules.

Richie gasps as Eddie grabs him by the collar of his shirt and hauls him down until they’re at the same level. He pauses for only a moment, just long enough for Richie to pull away if he wants to. He doesn’t.

Eddie kisses him. He plants his hands on either side of Richie’s face and presses their lips together hard, as if Richie will disappear if he’s too gentle. But he doesn’t disappear. He kisses back with just as much fervor, pressing his right hand into Eddie’s waist and dragging his other through Eddie’s hair. He holds Eddie close to his body, like Eddie is something worth holding onto. 

They pull back at the same time, remembering their need for air. Richie gasps when he pulls away, and it makes Eddie flush when he sees the dazed look in Richie’s eyes. Eddie leans in again just to peck him a few more times on the lips, and again on the jaw. 

“Jesus,” Richie mutters, clearing his throat when it comes out gravelly. 

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes.

“We should do that a lot more.”

“Oh yeah, definitely.”

They stand there for a moment, before they both seem to realize that nothing is stopping them from kissing again. They lean in at the same time, and they don’t stop kissing until Bev and Ben accidentally walk in on them an hour later. 

Bev yelps and Ben covers his eyes with his hands, even though Eddie and Richie were relatively decent. Eddie still squeaks in mortification, especially since Richie had maneuvered him until he was sitting on the table and Richie was standing in between his legs—he’s sure it looks much more compromising than it really was—but Richie just thrusts a fist into the air in triumph.

“Payback, motherfuckers!” Richie says, and Eddie slaps him upside the head.

“Step right up and see the most beautiful artwork you will ever lay eyes on!” Richie shouts in his booming announcer voice, and Eddie slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Shut the fuck up!” Eddie says, but he’s laughing as Richie’s smile pokes out from between Eddie’s fingers.

The decision to combine their booths into one mega-booth was, quite frankly, a ridiculous one. But somehow, it worked. The kids would drag their parents over so they could look at the dolls, and the parents would buy the produce while they were there, and more than half of the time, one or both of the parents would take a liking to Eddie’s paintings. Richie had finally convinced him to advertise the pieces that he could part ways with, and it certainly paid off.

Eddie finishes up selling his third painting of the day when he turns around to see Richie giving him a smug look.

“Told you people would like your work, Eds,” Richie says, coming up to wrap his arms around Eddie’s shoulders.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie mumbles, resting his chin on Richie’s chest. “Maybe you do have good ideas sometimes.”

“I’d sure hope so, since it was my idea to ask you out.”

Eddie pulls back with a raised eyebrow. “I asked you first!”

“Yeah, but the idea was in my head!”

“Dumbass,” Eddie mutters as he shakes his head, laughing as he leans in.

Richie grins, meeting Eddie’s kiss. They linger for a moment, breathing each other in before pulling back. Eddie smiles, and Richie returns it with his own beaming grin. 

“Get a room!” Bev shouts.

He hears Patty chuckle from her booth, and either Bill or Mike wolf whistles across the way. Eddie can feel Richie raise a hand behind his back, and he can only assume by Mike’s cackling that he flipped them off.

And really, he’s never felt more content.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! you can find me on twitter @slugboytozier! :)
> 
> also thank plum (@blumuris on twitter), a fellow tall patty lover, for giving me the idea that stan and patty sell tea and honey and that patty crochets!!! what a god tier concept


End file.
